V.
N. BHUSHAN
[Sri
Mutnuri Krishna Rao was a doyen among the editors of Andhra Pradesh and was
highly respected as a philosopher, a profound scholar and a nationalist. The Krishna Patrica occupied a unique place
under his editorship and played a very prominent role in the national struggle
for independence. 1979 is the birth centenary year of Sri Krishna Rao. Here is
a fine portrayal–by late Prof. V. N. Bhushan, himself a reputed poet and a
friend of Sri Krishna Rao–reprinted from Triveni,
for August 1936. –Editor]
A
face akin to that of a cherub, chiselled features which a Michael Angelo would
love to immortalize, searching, almond-shaped eyes–the savant peeping through
them–a hail-welcome smile with romanticism lurking in it, a charming profile
and a pregnant personality!
Walking
along the streets of Masulipatam, the fruitful vineyard of an elder day, you
may chance to pass by such an arresting individual. With bent head – for, is
not knowledge humble that she knows no more? – a down-set gaze that even the
rattle of a motor-car close by cannot disturb, and with a graceful gait worthy
of a member of the House of Lords, he paces the way from his house to his
office. If, without mistaking him for a Punjabi pugilist, you observe
attentively, you will soon discover him to be a far-above-the-average person.
He is Mr. Mutnuri Krishna Rao, the distinguished Editor of the
Only
a tiny fraction of the vast multitude that read and enjoy the Patrica have the privilege of a personal
contact with its Editor. For, seldom does Mr. Krishna Rao move out of
Masulipatam. Presidentship of meetings or public lectures are never part of his
programme of work. Even in Masulipatam, one rarely sees him at public
functions. If ever he attends them, it is only as a spectator, not as a
participant.
The
fact is, Mr. Krishna Rao lives in and loves silence. He loves reticence and
aloofness as fondly as his friend Dr Pattabhi welcomes writing and speaking.
Silence has become Mr. Krishna Rao’s habit, his second nature. It has come to
be his ornament and his epaulette. In short, he is, in the words of the poet,
“the foster-child of Silence.”
The
following amusing incident happened in those whirlwind days of the Salt
Satyagraha campaign. Dr Pattabhi–“the Brahmin commentator of Gandhiji, the
Vysya Sutrakar,” – and Mr. Cherukuvada Narasimham, “the Andhra Demosthenes,”
started village propaganda. They used to take Mr. Krishna Rao also with them,
more for prestige than for active help. In a certain village, Mr. Krishna Rao
had perforce to be the chairman of the day. There was no escaping it; and so he
bowed to the inevitable, and filled the presidential Gadi. Then, with signs and
gestures, utterly unaccompanied by any vocal sound, he invited, one after
another, the speakers of the day to do their business of lecturing. Finally, he
stood up indicating the close of the meeting. Thus ended the Sabha, the
president never opening his lips, either at the beginning or at the conclusion!
“Perhaps he is dumb,” remarked one villager to another while dispersing,
referring to the mute marionette show of Mr. Krishna Rao. That he came to that
solemn conclusion was no fault of the poor ignorant villager.
Silence
is Mr. Krishna Rao’s first, and perhaps, the only love. Gazing at the spreading
moonlight or peering into the enveloping darkness, or reclining in an arm-chair
at midday time, he can be alone and spend any number of hours. “How can you
bear so much of silence?” I queried him once. “Company rattles on my nerves and
makes my flesh creep,” was his reply. Whether at home or in his office or
anywhere else outside, he is a man of very few words. In the presence of
strangers, especially ladies, he almost gets frozen. A simple nod or a slight
ejaculation is all you get by way of reply to all your questions. Is it that he
desires to demonstrate in his life that silence is golden, and far superior to
speech that is after all only silver? I often fancy as to who his ideal in this
respect is–Carlyle who taught the virtues of silence in thirty bulky volumes,
or Sri Aurobindo who for thirty years has secluded himself in the touch-me-not
town of Pondicherry?
Yet,
strangely enough, there are many who have enjoyed his “feast of reason and flow of soul” in private
conversations. There should be only five or six hearers; and they should ply
him with questions. Then spurts out the stream of his talk, a veritable dancing
cataract of delight! It may be under the shade of the margosa trees in the
Kalasala compound; or on the sand-dunes by the side of the canal on the Fort
Road; or in his cosy office-room
seated in his “editorial “ chair tilted to a perilous angle; or in the
courtyard of his artistic house, reclined in an old wooden arm-chair, enjoying
the scented malathi breeze. In any one of these favourite places of his, when
he gets the proper mood and talks, Jove nods unto Jove and Deep answers unto
Deep. There will be no end to the variety of topics he deals with. Literature,
art, aesthetics, personalities, philosophies, economics, politics, religion,
ethics, free-love, sociology, the stage and the screen, dance and drama–any
subject you want he talks about with intimate knowledge, perfect ease, candour
and sympathy.
One
should observe him talk in such inspired moments. With a winning smile playing
about his face, and his eyes aglow with a “spiritual sparkle” (as Mahatma
Gandhi once remarked), he surprises his hearers by his intimate grasp of
things, and his analytical interpretation of even the toughest of topics. An
emotion almost infantile in its nature and an ebullient enthusiasm possess him
then, and impart to his ‘talks’ a kind of rare effulgence. Then do his hearers
realise that Mr. Krishna Rao belongs to that select band of men who prevail
upon us by the impalpable influence of their majesty, impress our imagination
with magic words and lyric dreams, and inspire us by a sort of naive impersonal
persuasion to deeper things and higher ideals.
That
Mr. Krishna Rao can speak with emphasis and illumination on any subject under
the sun, that he has in him the unique capacity of inducing others to view even
old ideas and effete things from an entirely new angle of vision, that he is
not such a closed-up and step-aside individual as he appears to be – this fact
was revealed to a wider public during his prison-life in the Civil Disobedience
movement. In the gaol he incarnated as a Guru, the role for which he is best
fitted in life. I was told by many that the youngsters used to congregate round
him as Chelas, give him the necessary stimulus by way of a question, and then
listen to his talks. For them it was just like switching on the radio. In the
rapture of a rare experience they almost looted the subterranean mines of his
knowledge.
Mr.
Krishna Rao is an aesthete to the core – an aesthete not of the lilies and
langours school but of the roses and raptures type. He has imbibed in himself
the best thought available in three languages–Sanskrit, Telugu and English. In
addition, he has the inherent gift of intuition, keen intellect and clear
thinking. His appetite for artistic life in its choicest form is like a bird
that always soars into higher realms, ever flapping its wings for more and more
inspiration. He is never tired of planning fresh decorations for his home – an
appropriate colour-scheme round the open courtyard, embedding of Agra marble
slabs in the hall or in the walls, firework arches of wood for the otherwise
naked pillars, mural ornamentation over thresholds and entrances, one thing or
other he always plans and pursues. So is the case in his small irksome office.
In the limited area of the elbow-yard there, we find statuettes, bowers, pools,
rustic seats and fine specimens of flowers. One wonders whether Mr. Krishna Rao
has any secret idea of grafting a duplicate Nandanavana!
Mr.
Krishna Rao’s yearning for artistic life and expression has impinged itself in
the production of his Patrica too. It
is the only one of its kind in Andhra. Its attractive get-up, its pictures of
art, its title-decorations and its invaluable contents – all have a singular
individuality of their own, and help to make the Krishna Patrica a thing of beauty.
I
was told that even when in prison Mr. Krishna Rao did not forsake his
art-enthusiasm. He converted his cell into an art salon. The exquisite white
Kolam drawings on the floor outside the threshold, after the traditional custom
of the Hindu home, led to an interior of coloured carpets and choice books.
Yes, how else could he be, he who ever gambols with graceful fancies and
beautiful thoughts?
His ever-vigilant artistic
temperament expresses itself even in his dress, which is indeed fascinating in
its simplicity. In his early days Mr. Krishna Rao, like many other anglicised
Indians, had his ultra-fashionable sartorial idiosyncrasies, and grappled with
clips, collars and ties. But ever since the dawn of the Gandhian era in 1920, he
has standardised his dress. A long white Lalchi that clings to him from neck to
knee, a white Dhoti in a semi- orthodox, semi-heterodox manner, and a white
conical turban challenging comparison with the headgear of Indian Princes – all
in pure spotless Khadi – this is all his simple, yet significant attire.
His turban, especially, has evoked
much interest and curiosity. Mr. Anthony Eden’s black velour hat and Mr. Krishna
Rao’s white turban suffer no change. They are their inseparable accidents.
Several well-known persons in history have some distinguishing mark or other in
their sartorial outfit. Sir George Reid, the eminent Australian statesman, was
noted for the large expanse of his white waistcoat; Bernard Shaw never parts
with his red tie; Mussolini never doffs off his heavy tasselled round cap;
Jawaharlal Nehru has popularised the sleeveless short Jacket, which has come to
be known as the ‘Jawahar Jacket’; Pandit Malaviya has the traditional Hindu
gaberdine of Achkan, Chaddar and Pagree. In the case of Mr. Krishna Rao the
turban has become his index-card. It has become such an integral part of his
daily costume, indeed of his personality, that one cannot recognise him without
it.
A humourous incident happened once.
Mr. Krishna Rao, along with some others, was going to attend the annual Andhra Conferences, probably at Mahanandi.
Reaching the railway station about-an-hour earlier than the scheduled starting
time, the delegates occupied their berths in the compartment. The ever careful
watch-dogs of the Government, I mean the C.
It is not an idle pen that is giving
what you may imagine to be undue importance to Mr. Krishna Rao’s dress. In
these days of fluctuating fashions and ever-changing tastes, it is indeed
refreshing to find some at least preserving their individuality in garments.
The two important persons that I know of who have been unerringly constant in
their habitual costume, and who by that very reason could be spotted out even in
a vast crowd, are Pandit Malaviya and Mr. Krishna Rao.
I shall recount what a gentleman, a
medical man to boot, did once. It was some six years back. One fine morning the
doctor quietly walked into the Krishna
Patrica office, and bowed low before the Editor. Motioned to make himself
comfortable, the doctor occupied a chair near at hand; and even ere he was
asked about his errand, began: “Sir, today is my birthday. So I wanted to do
some worthwhile deed early in the morning of this auspicious day. It has taken
the shape of my pilgrimage to you. For a long time past, I have been your
silent admirer–admirer of your personality, your profundity, your rich silence,
and above all, your picturesque, yet simple dress! Many rapturous moments have
I had thinking of these; and today I have plucked up courage to articulate
before you these long hidden thoughts of mine. Please accept my respectful
homage. Excuse my intrusion, please.” Thus concluding his set-speech in a single
breath, the doctor vanished as quickly as he had come leaving Mr. Krishna Rao
to himself and to wonder. More amused than impressed by his queer visitor’s
queer behaviour, the Editor with the comfortable face and quiet eyes resumed
his writing.
To say that Mr. Krishna Rao is not
at all a practical man will not be a revelation, for that is as it should be in
a person possessing a cent per cent artistic temperament and undiluted
aesthetic impulses. Mr. Krishna Rao is not of that type who long to rub
shoulders with life at all its angles. He is by nature unfit, and consequently
afraid, to face and grapple with the realities of the mundane world.
Especially, business and he dwell apart.
Otherwise, the Soap Factory which he
ventured to work some thirty years ago would, without being forced to close
down, have made him a business magnate and a millionaire. His Patrica would have become as popular and
paying as, say, the Times of
Even as it is, he could easily have
won wider recognition and reputation as an Editor. But he has an inherent
hatred of publicity, both for himself and his weekly. This habitual self-effacement
is almost an obsession with him. And in this Mr. Krishna Rao shares the
unpardonable weakness–or is it a praise-worthy virtue?–of many of our Andhra
elders who shun fame. Dr. Pattabhi, one of the apostles of Gandhiji, would have
been by now President of the Indian National Congress at least once. The late
Kopalle Hanumantha Rao Pantulu, who sacrificed his all for the Andhra Jateeya
Kalasala, would have been able to make it, in his own lifetime, as important an
institution as the
But all these belong to the sphere
of “might-have-been.” There seems to be an irrevocable curse to this effect on
Andhra and her distinguished sons. Many Andhras have in them more than the
necessary mettle for making a great name and commanding all-India attention.
But they are always content to be followers, not leaders; to be in the
rearguard rather than in the forefront. Not that they are incapable or timid or
vacillating. Some malignant fairy seems to haunt their trail and push them into
the penumbra of provincial fame. They are satisfied with no niche at all, or,
if any, a narrow one indeed, in the
Fame.
Other Andhra elders tolerate
publicity to a certain extent at least. Mr. Krishna Rao objects to even the
slightest. You may be surprised to know that there is not a single photograph of
his for which he has posed. The one photo of his which was sent to and
published in the Andhra Patrica at
the time of his going to prison, was secured mysteriously. Only the “mischievous
hand” that managed it knows the secret; and he guards it well.
Once I told him, “So-and-so desires
to write about you.” He turned round, saying sharply, “He would be doing the
worst thing in his life.” Another time, we two were strolling in the garden at
the back of his house. Stopping suddenly at a place, he pointed to a dried-up
tree, saying, “That’s just like
Many are unaware of the fact that Krishna Patrica is edited by Mr. Krishna
Rao. For, the Editor’s name does not appear in prominent print on the Patrica’s title-page, but is tucked away
in a corner of the last page. The way in which Mr. Krishna Rao was invested
with the editorship of Krishna Patrica was
quite accidental and unexpected. Mr. Krishna Rao, like Mr. Chintamani, has not
got the hallmark of a university degree. He was at
After an year’s extensive tour in
As has already been said Mr. Krishna
Rao is, by nature, always silent–shut like a knife. Yet, he cannot but express
himself through the Patrica. Most of
the masterly writings that have appeared in it from time to time are from his
own pen. What swelling diapasons, what dulcet harmonies! What display of taste
and talent, what dance of reason and rapture! How many are the visions that his
facile pen has visualised! How many movements it has shaped! What great causes
it has championed! How many unholy citadels of thought and action it has
stormed! How invaluable have been its services in the cause of our country and
culture!
Fearless, unbiassed, emotional,
trenchant and tinged with a little of philosophy, Mr. Krishna Rao’s writings
are richly strewn with the luminous observations of a keen-eyed, indefatigable
watcher of human life and activity. He is the master of a direct and precise
utterance; and has a command of the rhythm that is the first requisite of
expression–the rhythm that is the result of a cultivated mind and cultured
outlook. His editorials which are almost the first fine specimens of the
essay-form in Telugu literature, are as good as the best volumes in a library;
a valuable storehouse both to the lay reader and the literary writer. They have
in them the rich perfume of profundity and permanence–so rare in these days of
hectic and sensational journalism. For
As a penman, Mr. Krishna Rao has set
his firm stamp on style in its relation to ideas and feelings. The radiant
style which he has cultivated has the same portly bearing, the same kindly
accost and the same friendly brightening of the eye as he has. In short, he has
left his mark on contemporary Telugu style. And was it not Lord Morley who said
that he who touches the style of his generation acquires no trifling influence
over its thought and temper? The topic may be ordinary or extraordinary,
political or polemical, social or moral, art or aesthetics, literature or local
boards, economics or elections – Mr. Krishna Rao has the knack of infusing into
it spirit, emotion and life. He writes about all of them with the same pen of
fire and force. Especially, “the bright rhetorical topics of liberty and
patriotism are his readiest instruments for kindling a glowing reflection of
these magnanimous passions in the hearts of his readers.” Such impassioned
writings of his, like the oratory of Burke and Bright, awaken men’s hearts with
the note of a trumpet.
Inestimable and unostentatious is
the work that Mr. Krishna Rao and his Krishna
Patrica have done in the larger interests of our country’s welfare,
especially in the cause of the National Congress, Indian art and Telugu
literature. They have greatly helped to spur the spirit of renascent national
life in the Andhra Desa; and too, have aided in shaping the literary careers of
many an aspiring individual. It was the Kumara Raja of Gampalagudem who once
declared in a public meeting that he owed much of his education and
enlightenment to his regular reading of the Krishna
Patrica – a remark reminiscent of the Duke of Marlborough’s confession that
he had learnt all the history he ever knew out of Shakespeare’s historical
plays! What higher praise than this sincere tribute is needed to indicate the
important part that the Patrica and
its unassuming Editor have played in shaping the spirit and training the taste
of the vast Andhra public for over quarter of a century?
If ever Mr. Krishna Rao has any
weakness, it is modesty which he carries to an almost criminal degree. For, his
modesty has denied to the public much of his intellectual splendour. Not only
is he not conscious of any greatness in him, but he does not permit others even
to believe that he is worth something, something sterling. Once, indeed, the
public sought to force the garment of greatness on Mr. Krishna Rao. A grand
public meeting was held at
In spite of his consistent efforts
to recede into the background his influence has been felt by many. Very few
know in what high esteem Sir S. Radhakrishnan holds Mr. Krishna Rao; perhaps,
none know that the philosopher-knight got inspiration for his Philosophy of Rabindranath Tagore from
Mr. Krishna Rao’s dissertations about the poet-seer of